Purple Pen Prose
by clueless in seattle
Summary: My last purple pen has run out...so as I head off into the sunset for a while...all the old Rumour and Innuendo about Bobby and a NEW Chapter 8...
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…now get back to doing the dishes please)_

_**The trouble with "really smart guys" is that there are too few of them in the world. This creates a problem for women in the search and competition to find and secure one…and for the really smart guys themselves. Who find themselves the subject of more female "admiration" than they can handle. So what must…or could…daily life really be like for Bobby Goren…the smartest guy at 1PP…??**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO**

Bobby Goren knew another of those rumours about him had started. They went round the 1PP building with the same regularity with which the ventilation system re-cycled airborne bacteria so one section or department or squad was always stricken with something the people three floors below had a fortnight ago. He'd become used to rumours and suffered them with the same calm patience always attributed to saints.

Though he'd never understood that. Nor did what he knew of saints indicate it was true. He'd tried when he was 9 to resolve that seeming inconsistency by speaking to Father O'Malley at St Jude's where he was an altar boy. Asked him _"Why if saints are so patient Father didn't St Patrick just wait? For the evolutionary process or climate change to rid Ireland of snakes?"_ It was questions like that finally ended his career as an altar boy and of course Father O'Malley stayed in the nice rest home he was taken to that afternoon.

It was easy to tell it was happening. Those _"mentally undressing"_ him looks he was getting from the female officers. He wouldn't mind in a few cases if it were for real. Except elevators and hallways were not ideal places to act on the opportunities that would present. And certainly not when he had so much work to do.

Those little groups of three formed into a circle he was always relieved to see were round a water cooler not a steaming cauldron as he went by. The sudden silences that fell when he was around. The increased number of telephone conversations that his partner Alex Eames had of a strange and elliptical nature. So elliptical that had a Mets pitcher ever been able to throw a curveball like that they'd have won the World Series for ten years straight.

Then there were his confidential informants. The contract cleaning crew who would report the sudden increase in poems of an _"adult"_ nature on the ladies rest room walls. Featuring him in ways that occasionally piqued his curiosity and sense of adventure but more often gave him nightmares. Always written in indelible purple marker pen. He had not yet abandoned his quest to identify which female detectives owned such pens. If only to recommend a dictionary and a Thesaurus given the atrocious spelling in some of the offerings and the very limited vocabulary.

After three weeks Captain Deakins called him to his office to show him some data that Human Resources had gathered. How the productivity of the female officers had fallen by fifty percent, time around water coolers was up by an average of twenty minutes per day per woman and the cleaning costs for the rest room walls were threatening to wipe out the budget for the rest of the year. Pointing out that a three-week sample was too small on which to extrapolate a budget out-turn threatened, for a brief time, to send Deakins to the same place Father O'Malley ended up.

Told it was down to him to make sure this didn't end up like the infamous _"Boxers or Tighty-Whitey Crisis of '05"_ when crime figures in New York soared for a while, Goren had no choice but to act. He waited until the end of the shift and entered the female locker room announcing, "Man on the floor". Of course just like in the Army there's always one who pats the bench she's sitting on in a way she considers _"inviting"_ and says "Here will do fine by me Bobby". Always the one makes you think _"In your dreams lady…and my nightmares"_.

Goren felt thirty pairs of eyes boring through the haze of smoke told you someone had disabled the detectors in here and with a familiar scent suggested at least one of them would fail a random drugs screening. Watching as he went to the middle of the room and after a moment's hesitation got hold of the zipper and began to unfasten it slowly.

The only sounds in the room that of the metal teeth parting in that soft _"zzz"_ sound, some breath quickening and one sudden intake so deep that now two of them would fail a dope test. The only movement his hand reaching slowly inside to cradle gently the source of the speculation and three tongues (none of them his) flickering over glossed lips.

Alex Eames' eyes were on stalks as he lifted it out for them all to see and in total silence. Never before achieved in the history of humankind with that number of women in the same room as a slightly heady _"Wow"_ indicated three might now be stoned. Then like a crowd of hormonal teenagers at a Justin Timberlake concert they gathered round to touch, to stroke, to squeal and ask questions with flushed faces and coy glances.

Two hours later and with the squad room to himself Bobby locked his new gun in its case into his desk drawer. As to the _"size of the barrel", "smoothness of slide action", "ejection velocity"_ and _"re-load time"_ of anything else belonging to him…well those women would have to wait on another time…

_**AN**__:__ Please note I am NOT employed by NYPD at IPP and nor do I own an indelible purple marker pen._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and no I don't know where your car keys are)_

_**Bobby Goren continues to find himself the subject of the rumour mill at 1PP…**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO (2)**

Bobby Goren had a sense of humour even if he did find practical jokes rather infantile and occasionally cruel. He knew he might have found the handcuffing of his middle desk drawer to a to radiator pipe so it wouldn't open _"mildly ha ha"_ but for two things. He badly needed a fresh notepad for his folder at the time and the centre one was the drawer in which he kept stationary.

But what didn't so much fail to amuse him, as send a chill down his rather long spine and make him have to bite down his irritation, was that the cuffs were covered in pale pink fake fur.

So as he was having to borrow paper from Eames whose slight smirk was a real give-away and doing his mild mannered Clark Kent impression Bobby's mind was racing. Not about the fact he didn't wear glasses, change his clothes in telephone booths and not about his partner could be more annoying than any portrayal of Lois Lane at times. It was about the specific design of those cuffs and that they were probably a very big clue. To the nature of the latest rumour circulating about him at IPP.

They were a hazard of the job no bulletproof vest protected you from and no automatic handgun had chance of resolving. At least not without using it on a substantial number of his colleagues and especially those of the female gender. Whom Bobby suspected started most of the rumours and propagated them via the ladies rest room walls. They seemed to be more influential than _"The New York Times" _as a medium for opinion forming these days.

Those grammatically incorrect, randomly spelled and graphic poems always written in indelible purple marker pen and could provoke cold sweat restless nights. To say nothing of the diversion it was when you were trying to solve important crime to have your female partner and every other you dealt with giving you "_those looks"._

The kind only women seemed born able to convey on their faces without a word being said. Though when they seemed to be that mixture of _"lust and hope" _or _"imaginative anticipation"_ as Bobby thought of them was it any wonder he was liable to sleep badly that night? As bad, as if not worse than the _"mournful reproach"_ and _"murderous anger"_ that broke out when someone put it round last year he'd a secret wife and three kids hidden somewhere on Staten Island.

The handcuffs meant Bobby wasn't entirely surprised. When they went to visit the latest crime scene, he hit his head on a low basement door and he muttered _"Damn"_, all Eames could snigger was "Not hard enough for you Bobby?"

Nor should he have found the comment "What with Bobby? Silken ropes or your belt?" at all strange when he told a female CSU technician he was _"a bit tied up at the moment" _to go see some discovery made in the lab.

There was a definite theme emerging but he began really to lose patience after meeting Elliot Stabler in the fifth floor rest rooms. The subject amongst the guys had been "_Who should be hitting clean up for the Mets?"_ Standing next to him Elliot had asked for Bobby's view on the matter.

His attention elsewhere, his reply had been a very careless _"Beats me"_ and resulted in Stabler pouting at him, saying softly "You wish", winking before doing up his zipper and stepping over to the basins. Of all the male cops Bobby would never wish to do such a thing that guy wasn't so much bottom of his list as _"off the page"_. But it told Bobby that things had become 100 percent worse than he dared to imagine.

The rumour had _"crossed over"_ the gender line meaning the same sort of wildfire was spreading amongst the men of NYPD. By the end of the week the only normal interactions he might be able to have with anyone on the force would be with either the dogs or horses. But transferring to a Canine Unit or the Mounted Division wasn't on his career plan right now. Even if a German Shepherd or a seventeen-hand chestnut might be less trouble as a partner than Eames was at times.

Though Bobby wasn't prepared to dismiss the option of working as a dog handler in future. A Rottweiler would be a partner he could safely take home from work and allow to sleep on the bed. Without him needing to stay awake all night or wear a suit of armour to be sure of staying free from the sort of unwanted attention Eames had tried on with him a few times and miles from any bedroom.

The crisis reached its crescendo in mid-afternoon when an anonymous package arrived at the front desk addressed to _"Robert Goren"_. It bore an uncanny resemblance to a number of similar ones had caused alerts all over the Downtown area of late. So Deakins' call to evacuate the building and send for the Bomb Squad was not _"panic"_ or "_over-reaction"._ Though his Captain, wildly angry at the time, told him those were exactly the words the Chief had used to him and about him ten minutes before.

As Deakins handed Bobby what had been found in the package. After two hours out on the cold pavement for several hundred people and at a cost of thousands of dollars to the citizens of New York. A black snakeskin whip with nine soft leather fronds fixed to the handle. Whatever the Chief said to Deakins, Bobby got a lecture about having mail of the _"private and discretely packaged"_ nature delivered to him at work. None of the words his boss was using about him liberally mixed with expletives were true, but he was later to be told by his _"sources"_ in the contract cleaning crew they were exactly the ones featured on the ladies rest room walls throughout the building.

It would have been both pointless and dangerous to have argued it wasn't him ordered the whip in Deakins office because at the time he was waving it around. And Bobby was concentrating on keeping well out of it's range despite what the rumours might be saying. Nor was it a good time to tell him the proper name for it was a _"cat-o-nine tails"_ because that term had got him in trouble many years ago.

Bobby was in fourth grade and the history curriculum at the time was _"The Colonial Era"_. And that day specifically _"The Navy"._ Mrs Green his teacher had delivered the sort of lesson of gruesome interest to students that age on the life of the sailors and conditions on board. When she invited questions he'd been totally serious when his hand went up to ask _"Do you think advances in genetic engineering will ever make it possible to breed real cats with nine tails?"_

It meant he never got to join in the learning of a few old sea shanties she'd promised as a treat at the end. He was sent out of the classroom and on the familiar route. To the office of the school psychologist for another of their discussions. One that resulted in his confidential file being amended from _"ridiculous moron"_ to _"recommend for MIT"._

Under instruction from Deakins to either take up a different hobby or deal with the latest rumour before things got out of control, Bobby waited until the end of the shift to go once again to the female locker room. Announcing _"Man on the floor"_ as he stepped over a thin trip wire and avoided a patch of grease someone had left there to try and ensure that's where he ended up.

The female detectives would need to try harder since Bobby not been caught out by that one in years. Not since the first occasion when he was rather more innocent and unsuspecting. He was stationed in Germany at the time and it had taken an entire platoon of Military Police colleagues to rescue him from under the ensuing pile of female enlisted.

There was a strange smell in the room. A mixture of a tyre factory in full production and the kind you got in the harness room of the Mounted Division. And a sudden banging of locker doors on some bizarre and painful looking objects and in his partner's case something pink and shiny. Before Bobby could say a word there was a sound like rolling thunder and a small mountain of chains and padlocks tumbled onto the floor from somewhere near Olivia Benson.

"Meet me in the basement in twenty minutes please ladies" he said as there was a collective intake of breath as loud as a single jet engine starting up. _Perhaps not the best way for him to have expressed it in the circumstances?_

"The garage" Bobby clarified "And by the way. It's not formal so please don't bother to get all dressed up"

**Twenty-Five Minutes Later...**

Bobby could tell they were still hopeful and became even more so as he led them to a dark corner of the garage where there were a series of walk-in storage bins. That he'd assembled his private dungeon on the premises and that maybe they'd get to practice a little _"knot tying"_ and _"discipline"_ on him in lunch breaks.

And the fact he was wearing new black leather pants and jacket by then probably only added to the open anticipation on their faces. Those dangerous eye glittering looks, sounds of respiration made them sound like a bunch of tired sled dogs and an amount of lip licking explained the soaring sales of gloss in the 1PP beauty salon.

He opened the door of one and gestured Eames in, though Bobby caught the wink she gave Benson before she took a tentative step inside. She was backing out in less than a second. With that look said _"confused, furious and this is all your fault Bobby"_ he'd seen a few times before.

"It's a damned motorbike" she exploded as a small groan of the grossly disappointed kind went round the group.

"It's not just a bike Eames" he said stepping inside and grabbing a handful of the seat in the way he knew they hoped he might grab a handful of them.

"It's a '91 Harley FXSTC" his fingers caressed the chrome lightly "Apehanger handlebars as you see. Did them myself last weekend"

Bobby swung one leg slowly over the Harley, lowered himself with a sigh of satisfaction and then wriggled a little "You know this baby pulls down 49 HP at 5000 rpm?"

"Really" one of them muttered as they turned away glumly but pulling the motorcycle helmet over his head he didn't hear who answered Olivia Benson's question:

"So who was it saw Bobby going into _'Land of Leisure Leatherwear'_ on 63rd and got totally the wrong idea this time?"

Bobby had a pretty good idea as the Harley roared into life. He would be keeping a casual watch on _"e-Bay"_ for a few days. See if a _"size 4 rubber cocktail dress. Pink (never worn)" _suddenly appeared for sale under the name of _"Semea"_ though she really should be able to come up with something better than that.

He was humming _"Born To Be Wild"_ as he steered the bike out of the garage and planning to watch _"Electra Glide In Blue"_ again when he got home. Before a good night's sleep…maybe dreaming about his planned trip to Sturgis in the summer…

_**AN**__** : **__I do not work at 1PP and nor do I own a purple marker pen_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch that and suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and if you want beer go get your own)_

_**I thought it might be fun (for me if not for him) to stretch even further the idea of Bobby getting more female attention at 1PP than he knows how to deal with…or would want to… **_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO (3)**

Bobby Goren knew he should have been been more of a realist, maybe even a little pessimistic. Things had been going too well, too smoothly of late to think it would last forever. That he would actually be allowed to get on with the job of solving strange and unusual crimes committed by people made his minor quirks and foibles appear quite normal. But the first clue he was going to be sidetracked by yet another of these rumours circulated at HQ about him came on the Monday morning.

He'd arrived at his desk and remembered (thanks to a note he'd taped in his top drawer to remind him) to smile at his partner and ask if she had a good weekend. And did he get _"Yes thank you. And what about you Bobby?"_

No. Instead Eames gave him a look like he'd just thrown a sack filled with six kittens and an equal number of cinder blocks into the Hudson. Before she burst into tears and ran from the room. It was two hours later before she returned carrying a wad of tissue, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes.

Asking if she missed anything important and commenting she must look a terrible sight. Bobby's social skills were not always the sharpest but even he knew that was not the time to tell the unvarnished truth. So he didn't say, _"No I only tracked down two serial killers but I think I know who the third is"_ nor _"Yes you do"_.

He lied and said _"Not much"_ and kept his other thought to himself. That with her face as white as it was and her mascara smudged eyes maybe she should call Brooklyn Zoo? Offer herself in an experiment. To see if sexual jealousy would persuade the female panda called Ping Ling to accept the advances of her frustrated mate Ling Ping. _Or was it the other way round?_ If only because the daily saga of endangered species romance on the TV news was taking up time would have been better spent discussing how the Mets bullpen was holding up this season.

But a long afternoon of Eames' baleful looks across at him, occasional strangled sobs and a mountain of witness statements to plough through had Bobby twitching, pulling at his shirt collar and wondering who had died. At least he assumed that was the case since her side of the phone conversations were of the kind indicated the endless stream of callers were expressing condolence.

It might have been easier to ask but Bobby was so distracted by it all it took him until he'd got to the last of the statements to realise what he'd done. Gone through them correcting grammar and spelling and putting grades at the end which really annoyed Ron Carver. At least he'd done it in pencil this time, not red ink and as Eames departed with a look would have done Medusa proud, he was amazed his hand still moved. To be able to reach into his top drawer. For a new eraser since he was now in for a long night.

The second clue came on Tuesday when he was on his way to the shooting range to get in some practice with his new gun. He had to pass by a large group of female detectives running a Bake Sale by the elevators, though why they were not doing the job the city paid them for he never did find out. As Bobby turned the corner there was a collective intake of breath of such magnitude it was astonishing the hallway wasn't turned into a vacuum. Followed by a torrent of words between them he didn't catch and a barrage of those looks. The sort women make and delude themselves into thinking you don't realise it's you they are talking about. Then finally the ultimate female strategy. A mass stampede to the nearest rest rooms.

Goren had often wondered what the collective noun for a group of women should be. Indeed when he was 14, all dictionaries and reference books having failed him, he raised the matter with his English teacher. Miss Findley was a young and attractive woman and if he was being scrupulously honest, an object of adolescent fantasy at times for him and the other guys in the offensive line. But thinking he might have plugged a gap in grammar and lexicography his question was totally innocent.

He'd not expected his enquiry of her _"Do you think a good collective noun for ladies would be an oestrogen of women" _to result in what followed. Her resignation, his suspension for three days and yet another interview with the school psychologist. However the notation on his confidential file was amended from _"sexually inappropriate"_ to _"socially inept"._

But for the rest of Tuesday half the women Bobby encountered looked at him like he'd left a pregnant wife and six children he didn't have for a stripper called Roxy. Whilst the other half burst into tears like Eames had and ran away. As if he'd reneged on his word to marry them, left them at the altar with six kids and the strong suspicion it would be seven in about 34 weeks time.

By Wednesday things were beginning to spiral out of control. There was Eames and her looks which given enough of them and over a sufficient period of time could well become the official cause of his death. If he didn't throw himself out the window to get away from her constant shuddering sobs and sniffling. The rest of the female staff was behaving in a fashion past experience had taught him was dangerous to equate to anything hormonal and now it seemed to have spread to the male population of HQ.

He'd sat through a very strange meeting with Deakins and Carver where they insisted he stay _"that" _side of the table and keep his hands _"where we can see them"_. And why his Captain almost yelped _"That's not my thing I'm afraid Bobby"_ when he leaned over his shoulder to explain a DNA profile made no sense at all. _Unless he was explaining he'd flunked biology?_

When he went into the rest rooms a couple of guys moved away to the far end of the room and he was rather upset to hear another ask from inside a stall _"Is it safe? Has Bobby gone yet?" _The only ones who would eat lunch with him were a group of male cops from the Vice Squad waved him over at the diner.

One was wearing a uniform and Bobby assumed the rest were under cover. With a gang of Hell's Angels, on a construction site, some sort of cattle ranch and a Native American Reservation though he'd no idea before there even was one in Manhattan. As he put down his tray the brief silence fell over the room was deafening. Before the hum of conversation buzzed louder than before and he saw at a table over the aisle a scowling Fin Tutuola hand over at least thirty bucks to his partner John Munch. Who had a knowing smile on his face.

By Thursday the only person still speaking to him, not avoiding him like he was infectious or bursting into tears, though that was female gender specific, was a detective from SVU. Ironic since they never got along well. Goren thought the guy _"a testosterone dependent self-righteous Neanderthal"_ but at least he'd said that to his face.

The other detective was suddenly his only friend in the world had merely written _"Bobby Goren is a wierdo"_ on the locker room wall. However he had spelled his name right and his own red pen had corrected the sixth grade error he might have expected from a man like that.

As usual with these problems it was the contract cleaning staff that came to his rescue. An anonymous message on his answer machine when he got back from the strip club where Roxy performed on a Thursday night. Telling him what the writing on the wall was. Or more specifically what it said on the walls in purple indelible marker pen in all the female restrooms on floors two through sixteen.

Goren hadn't yet given up hope of one day working out which female detectives seemed to buy purple pens wholesale and neglect to purchase paper. But the information he received was sufficient for a detective with his powers of deduction to work out what had been going on all week. And to conclude there had been a breach of medical ethics for that piece of personal information about him to have ever come to light. But drastic situations call for drastic measures. Even the _"socially inept"_ know that.

At the start of the shift Friday morning he entered the female locker room announcing "Man on the floor". For once and it was something of a relief, not getting those looks from several of the women. The kind indicated their willingness to make sure that's where he found himself. On his back as they drew lots and then formed an orderly line. Nor any bench patting _"invitations"_ from those who featured in his most frequent and unpleasant anxiety dreams.

"There's been…um…an unfortunate misunderstanding" he said clutching tightly on this occasion not to his folder, but a pile of slim books borrowed from the High School he drove by on his way to work.

"Is that what you call it?" pouted Eames as two of her colleagues formed fussing ranks around her "Misrepresentation is what I call it Bobby"

He waited for the buzz of agreement to subside "It is true that…on my person…I do have a tattoo…a moment of uncharacteristic inebriation…when I was stationed in the Philippines but…"

"Oh cut to the chase Bobby" said his partner "Do you or do you not have a tattoo on your left ass cheek? Of a heart with Elliot T S inside it?"

"Yes I do" he raised his chin defiantly as another of those collective in-takes of breath threatened to suck everyone all the way into the showers at the far end of the room "But it's not that simple and not what you think"

"Really?" said Olivia Benson her brows arched higher that the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge and with a level of scepticism in her tone suggested she'd pulled it on with her pantyhose that morning.

"Yes really" he said "It's no secret that I enjoy literature. Of all sorts. Including poetry. I was reading one of my favourite poets one evening before my Army buddies and I went into Manila and got rat-faced…I mean…had a few small low alcohol beers. The local tattoo parlour was doing a _'two for one'_ offer that night. My friend Hank had…well never mind it doesn't matter…on his and I was supposed…"

"You had Elliot T S put on your butt" interrupted Eames "This is a very unlikely and bizarre explanation Bobby. And from someone makes his living solving crimes with unlikely and bizarre explanations you might understand why I…why we…don't automatically believe you"

"Oh shit" he said his patience finally expiring "Surely you heard of T S Eliot? The Waste Land? The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock? Ash Wednesday? The Nobel Prize 1948?"

Bobby glanced round at a sea of blank faces and fought the temptation to ask _"Did any of you ever go to school? Attend classes I mean? Not just hang around the rest rooms fixing your make up? Pass tests more demanding than Cheerleading 101?"_ But only because the last time he did that they threatened him with a class sexual harassment suit and he'd had to buy them off with huge boxes of chocolate doughnuts and Clearasil to deal with the consequences.

"I brought in some books" he began to pass them round "This is some of Eliot's finest work. Very rich in allegory and metaphor. The way he uses them in unusual juxtaposition as a way to…"

He sensed he was losing them again and in sheer desperation he said "Okay then. He's the guy who wrote _'Cats' _or least what the musical is based on"

"Oh _that_ T S Eliot" squealed Eames as several others echoed her and began to nod "Well why didn't you just say so Bobby? How wonderful you like it too. How many times have you seen it on Broadway?"

"I didn't say I admired that aspect of his work" he muttered "But yeah that's who the tattoo is about"

"Just a moment. Not so fast" Eames frowned "Why does your tattoo say Elliot with two 'l's and with the T S after it? On this book the T S comes first and there's only one 'l' "

"I was trying to tell you earlier" he sighed "The tattoo artist was even more drunk… I mean tired…than we were. And seriously dyslexic" he added with a mutter "Hank's _Semper Fi_ ended up _Semen Chi_. His wife thinks he belongs to a fraternity for sperm donors"

"Oh Bobby" breathed Eames "So you are not…you know…after all…you and Elliot…haven't…don't…"

"No Eames" he muttered "Have not and will not. Not even in my wildest and worst nightmares"

The collective sigh of relief was in danger of reaching hurricane force as Goren left the locker room safe in the knowledge that tell 7 women something and the whole world will know by lunchtime. Normality was restored at least for a while and everyone was happy.

Except for one lone and miserable detective in SVU. Who sat the rest of the day sobbing inconsolably with his secret hopes and dreams shattered. And when he wasn't doing that, banging his head against a locker. The label on which read _"Elliot T S"_

_**AN **__**: **__I am not employed at 1PP nor do I own any indelible purple marker pens. _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!_

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…now go take the dog for a walk…I'm busy)_

_**Bobby creates another problem for himself at 1PP…**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO (4)**

Bobby Goren expected it this time. Another of those rumours about him to start. The moment he filled in his _"Special Leave"_ application form and put it in Deakins in tray. At IPP sealing something in an envelope marked _"Personal and Confidential"_ was pointless. He knew there was a kettle, or maybe a small cauldron, in the ladies locker room to enable both female cops and the civilian support staff to steam open such communications.

Always it seemed when they applied to him. Last year a bill from his tailor resulted in every woman in the building getting to know his vital statistics. All of them except the two they really wanted to know. One of which was the thickness of his wallet.

For all the confidentiality there was likely to be about something happening in his private life, he'd have more chance of keeping it that way placing the news on an illuminated billboard in Times Square on New Year's Eve. The only uncertainty was how long it would take the Captain's secretary to get the kettle or cauldron to heat to simmering point, extract the form and relay the content to another of her gender.

Less than hour it turned out as Eames returned to her desk after lunch white faced and nauseous looking. A look Bobby suspected had nothing to do with the volume of Bloomingdale's bags she was carrying and the fact the _"Fall Sale"_ started today. It's only men emerge from such things looking _"pale and sick"_ whilst for women it's more _"sadistically triumphal"_ and with notches on their purse straps. To indicate the number of ribs they'd broken and toes they had trampled in the quest for _"Massive reductions on designer labels"._

Though that was a term had caused him trouble before in his life. Bobby was 13 and the English class doing a module on _"The Language of Advertising"_. He'd been put in a group to go through various newspaper clippings and other items. One of which was a picture from the _"Boston Globe"_ of about two hundred women looked to be staging a Civil War battle re-enactment in _"Filene's Basement",_ judging by the weapons on display and aggressive expressions. But the caption said it was _"designer labels"_ they were fighting over, not Vicksburg.

His group, which was predominantly female, began to laugh at a question he asked them so loud and hysterically that Mr Burton the teacher came over to ask what was wrong or so funny. Kate Johnson, on whom he had a severe crush at the time, immediately spluttered between giggles _"It's what Bobby Goren said sir"_. Made by Mr Burton to repeat it he did. _"Why do women want designer labels? Surely they should buy the whole garment?"_

He never did get an answer to that one since Bobby spent the next half hour waiting outside the school psychologist's office and a further 30 minutes inside. But his confidential file was amended from _"class clown"_ to _"cluelessly cute"_ and at least he got over the crush on Kate Johnson that morning. Though he wasn't so sure the slim, blonde psychologist might not be developing one on him. A thought he'd dismissed as adolescent _"wishful thinking"_ which was something he was doing a lot of thanks to puberty. Along with some other things.

Bobby wasn't about to ask Eames what was wrong. He couldn't bear the certain answer _"Well if you don't know I'm not telling you"_ He'd learned years ago not to fall into that trap of feminine illogic implied everyone was somehow psychic. He might be a lot of things including _"cluelessly cute",_ but illogical and psychic were not two of them. Nor did he allow her occasional shuddering sobs or her waste paper bin overflowing with damp tissues by the end of the afternoon to distract him. Not even when he found one stuck to his right shoe since a surgical glove, a pair of tweezers, an evidence bag and the fact his own bin was almost empty, dealt with that problem.

By next morning Bobby was prepared for the onslaught. On every floor of IPP and in every hallway women breaking into floods of tears the moment they saw him. Or as he passed by a group of them round the water coolers the word _"pig"_ being muttered. Before they disappeared into the restrooms. As always together and Bobby was relieved in one respect.

If they were off to write those libellous poems about him in indelible purple marker pens that were probably appearing all over the building, at least _"pig" _should be within their capacity to spell correctly. The last time he became a figure of hate _"barsteward" _was fairly easy to work out but he was still puzzling over what the author really meant by _"fat trailer"_ in order to get it to rhyme with _"potater"._ Obviously someone who went to the _"Dan Quayle School of Spelling"_ but Bobby's interest was in the identity of the owners of purple marker pens, not their execrable spelling, grammar and ignorance of poetic form.

It was proving to be the mystery he couldn't solve, despite having a collection of purple marker pens of his own to try to find a perfect shade and tone match for the graffiti. Such an expert was Bobby becoming on _"The Colour Purple"_ Spielberg would probably make a movie about it one day and he be qualified to switch careers to interior design. And his _"undercover"_ squad of contract cleaners seemed only able to report the appearance, not the source.

The only positive side to the events this time was that Bobby been able to predict them and the nature of the rumour wasn't the sort to set the male population of 1PP against him. Indeed, he was never so popular with remarks like _"Here comes the man himself"_ when he entered the rest rooms, and a chorus of _"Well done Bobby"_ and _"Way to go Goren"_ when he went into the lunchroom.

Those remarks having the added bonus of emptying the place of female detectives who rushed for the door, many of them searching for tissues whilst the rest seemed to be resisting the temptation to shoot him. It meant he and the other guys got a chance to finish their selections for the _"Greatest All-Time Mets"_ team without interruption. Even John Munch joined in and conceded gracefully his first pick at centre field. Without blaming a plot by _"Opus Dei"_ or the _"industrial military complex"._

So just as Bobby found himself in _"the doghouse"_ as far as his female colleagues were concerned, he was suddenly the most popular guy in _"the frat house"_ with the guys. Many of who had treated him with suspicion in the past and according to Fin Tutuola that had been envy and feeling intimidated. About the size of his feet.

The only male detective not so happy he was inviting Bobby for a drink after work, slapping him on the back and saying _"You're the man"_ was one in SVU. But then they never did have a good relationship and it had only got worse thanks to a rumour in the past. One that was not true about him but _"the jury was still out"_ on the other guy so far as Bobby was concerned. And likely to stay that way after a note appeared on the locker room wall read _"You be-trayed me Bobby"_, dated yesterday and signed _"ETS"_. Though some day he might have to tell Stabler that the word wasn't hyphenated, except in what passed as his version of the English language.

But Bobby knew his mild enjoyment of the current situation could not last. The mixture of bereavement and resentment simmering like the kettle amongst the female detectives had led to another of those productivity declines. So Deakins informed him at the end of the week, when it seemed a strike was also looming amongst the contract cleaning staff. About workloads created by having to clean the ladies bathroom walls of indelible purple marker pen and industrial injuries from lifting heavy trash bins laden with sodden tissues. Bobby left the Captain's office under instruction to go and speak to the women of 1PP and _"be honest and brutal if needs be son"_.

Bobby entered the female restroom announcing "Man on the floor" and stepping sideways to avoid the sprung trapdoor just inside the entrance, on this occasion he couldn't be sure about. Whether it would send him to a soft landing on a large feather bed where several of them waited licking their glossed lips at the prospect, or hurtling down several floors to be impaled on specially sharpened stakes. Both options had appeared in the fevered imaginations of the purple marker pen owners in the past and he still couldn't make his mind up which would be the worse fate.

"I've been sent to speak to you all" he said as a palpable tsunami of hostility and sadness threatened to push him back into the hall.

"What is there to tell Bobby?" muttered the woman who used to pat the bench to invite him to sit next to her. _The one featured in his most disturbing and sweat soaked dreams if she did but know it _"We all know you have paternity leave booked in six months time"

"It's true" he shrugged to the accompaniment of few strangled groans echoing round the room, as he confirmed all their fears and extinguished lingering hope forever.

"What's her name?" demanded Eames; her hands clenched so tightly round a wad of tissue something semi-liquid was dripping onto the floor making more work for the cleaners.

"Susie" he replied "Though I call her Poppet"

"Bet you do and I can guess when" snorted Olivia Benson "So how long has this…this thing been going on Bobby?"

"Over a year. We met on the beach at Long Island. She was with a guy was treating her very badly and…" he was cut off by a chorus of _"aaww"_ before he continued "Anyway I took her away from all that, set her up in a nice place upstate, visit her most weekends and of course she got pregnant. Not exactly planned but…well…things happen"

"Oh spare us the details Bobby" snapped Eames, before immediately contradicting herself in the way women never seem to notice they do, by adding "Why doesn't she live with you?"

"Susie doesn't like city life, I need to be here for the job…on the rare occasions I get a chance to actually do it…the countryside gives me a break and now with the baby coming Westchester County is a much better place bring one up"

There was murmured assent as some of the veneer of resentment began to crack and someone asked "So when's the wedding Bobby?"

"There's not going to be one Sergeant" he replied as the collective intake of breath succeeded in giving several of them chests the size they always wanted

"That's what you think Bobby" said a woman at the back "You may find Susie has other ideas. Especially when the contractions start"

Bobby glanced at his watch "If you'll excuse me ladies. Susie has an ultrasound scan due later and I want to be there"

"Of course" muttered Eames "And Le Mars to attend and a nursery to paint and I don't doubt in six months time you'll know more about obstetrics than the folk at the hospital, be gloved and masked and fully prepared to deliver the baby by a C-section all by yourself if need be"

"We are hoping for a home delivery. I think Susie will find it easier with familiar things around her" he said before adding "And do I detect a note of sarcasm in your tone Eames?"

"Congratulations Bobby" she growled "On working that out. Not about you and…and…that…"

The rest of whatever she intended to say was lost in a choking sob as the rest of the female detectives gathered round her to sympathise and console her. Bobby left thinking it reminded him of something he saw about elephants one time on the _Discovery Channel_ when all the baseball was rained off. He left the locker room which was stacked high in one corner with cartons of melting chocolate ice cream the female detectives must think they had no use for. _Perhaps they were all starting diets tomorrow?_

**Six months later**

It had been a wonderful six months for Bobby. Not because of the huge workload created by two serial killers, five homicidal spouses, six cousins determined to be the only left standing when Grandpa died and the usual smattering of people would keep Jung and Freud busy. Or would if they were not dead themselves.

Not because he'd caught all of them and been awarded a medal in one case and not because he'd managed it all despite the occasional minor outbreaks of jealous resentment from Eames. The pouts every Friday when she knew he was heading for Westchester and the failure to organise a _"baby shower"_ for him and Susie was an unofficial duty of your partner. Though that wasn't something in the circumstances which bothered him. But her failure to wish him _"Good luck"_ when he got the call Susie had gone into labour and was dashing off to be there, was rather mean and petty.

What had made it a great six months was there hadn't been a single rumour about him. Little wonder he was so happy he was uncharacteristically whistling a lot. What he was doing as he arrived at his desk the following morning.

"What the hell are you doing here Bobby?" squawked his partner both surprised and with a slightly guilty expression as what might be a thick marker pen vanished into her top drawer

"Just clearing some paperwork before I go on leave"

"Shouldn't you be at…with…with Susie" she said it as if was like drawing a wisdom tooth without Novocain for her to utter the name "And the baby"

Bobby picked up a file "Not a lot I can do right now. They are both resting as the saying goes"

She glowered at him "So? What did she have? Boy or girl?"

"Boy" he said "Just after midnight. He's gorgeous and perfect"

Eames sniffed quietly "And his name?"

"Sandy"

"After the beach where you met no doubt?" she sneered

"No. Because that's his colouring. So cute" he sighed

"But you're dark Bobby" she frowned "Or used to be before you started going grey I mean"

"_And who brought that on?"_ he was tempted to say, though he just smiled and said, "Takes after Susie. Want to see a picture of Mom and baby?"

"I guess" she scowled as he stood up and passed it over the desk

Thanks to his size 13 Nike's he made it out the door and all the way down the hall before a scream threatened to shatter every window in the building. A banshee howl of rage, frustration, and humiliation and with a shrill high-note of hideous revenge Bobby would worry about another time.

As Eames discovered that Susie was really a donkey he was sponsoring at the "Westchester County Animal Sanctuary".

Bobby reckoned he had a forty-minute head start on her, the rest of the female detectives and the private investigators they hired to follow him. Forty minutes which would see him well on his way to his secret location fishing cabin and ten perfect days of _"Special Leave"._ Just a slip of the pen he'd ticked the box marked _"Paternity"_ instead of _"Time Owed"._ At least that was the story he intended to tell on his return.

_**AN**__** : **__I do not work at 1PP nor do I own an indelible purple marker pen. At least not one in the 79 shades of it Bobby has in his collection so far_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**__ All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them comes from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…now will you please go outside to finish clipping your toenails)_

_**With all these rumours that go round 1PP about Bobby I thought just for once it would be nice if one did turn out…in some ways…to be true. And to "pair" him with another of my favourite "smart guys"**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUEDO (5)**

Bobby Goren knew it would happen. It had been almost a month since the last time and rather like a full moon they occurred with the same regularity. Indeed, this time he made a mental note to keep a more careful log of the co-incidence of a new rumour about him at IPP emerging and the date of the full moon. _Perhaps it was like lycanthrope and secret satanic rituals alleged to occur at such times? _

Though he knew enough about statistics to know a positive correlation between factors didn't prove causal effect. At least in this instance Bobby sincerely hoped not. Otherwise he'd have might have to suffer the additional disruption to his routine of baying at the moon, having to shave even more often and especially so if the night was to be spent dancing naked round a fire.

The mistake was to have gone on a three-day fishing trip right after his visit to Attica. With his friend in the DA's office to interview a dangerous serial killer about an outbreak of what looked to be copycat crimes occurring in the city. That had been a disconcerting experience, especially when the homicidal sociopath came to the bars of his cell, sniffed the air and said _"Old Spice"_.

He was wrong of course, because having sat next to Jack McCoy on the plane Bobby knew full well he'd liberally applied "_Armani Acqua di Gio"_ bought at the tax-free store on the concourse at Newark Airport. Though why he left it until then to get showered and shaved Goren had no idea. Well that wasn't strictly true since he knew something of the hectic nature of Jack's social life, but a gentleman never asks. But he had warned McCoy at the time it was likely to cause an aromatic clash with his own "_Lagerfeld",_ so it was an understandable mistake for the prisoner to have made.

The interview might have concluded much sooner but McCoy and the psychopath _"got into it" _on the matter of wine. For half an hour they argued the merits of _Cabernet Sauvignon _versus _Chardonnay, _whilst he finished the crossword and finally settled the matter by pointing out that since one was a red grape and one was white, it was a fruitless argument. A pun the maniac didn't understand anymore than he did why Jack persisted in squabbling that long.

The only alcohol ever passed McCoy's lips had _"Irish"_ or _"Tennessee"_ in the name, was distilled from grain and the only exception to that was from his secret supplier somewhere in the Smoky Mountains. Bobby had shared a half bottle of that with him on one occasion. Two days later when their eyesight returned, the rest did an excellent job of stripping the old varnish from his apartment floor, which was what Jack had come round to help him do in the first place.

However, it was that made them have to take a later flight back from Buffalo and put his vacation plans in serious jeopardy. He always needed several hours to shake the tail that Eames and her like-minded fiends _(no - that's not a typographical or spelling error)_ had put on him each time he went away. Bobby had thwarted their attempts to discover his secret and remote fishing cabin for two years, after dispelling the particularly scurrilous rumour he was sure Elliot Stabler put around about what he did on his vacations. Ably assisted of course by that unofficial information superhighway at 1PP _–aka-_ the ladies rest room walls.

The last thing he needed right now with property prices set to fall in the area was to have to sell up. Not after the money he'd spent on the surveillance system just in case he ever failed to elude any of PI's they hired to follow him. But the quality had improved greatly since the first time, when one of the female detectives had thought a mounted detachment of the Seventh Cavalry would go unnoticed in his rear view as he headed north on Fifth Avenue. They might have but bringing the regimental band to play _"Garry Owen"_ was a grave mistake because Bobby had always had an excellent ear for music. Almost as good as his olfactory sense.

So little did Bobby know it but _"trouble was brewing"_ even before he stepped into the squad room on his first day back at work. The _"full beam"_ glare he got from Eames 30 seconds after she arrived in the office, he assumed was because she didn't appreciate his gift. The half dozen, five pound rainbow trout he left on her desk. He could have gutted, filleted, skinned and poached them lightly with some almonds, garlic and a white wine sauce –_maybe a Chardonnay_- during the time she spent lecturing him about _"gender stereotyping", "sensitivity" _and _"your lack thereof Bobby"_.

The June centrefold from _"Playboy"_ had seemed to him to be an ideal form of wrapping for the fish not least because it was waterproof. He'd laminated it himself before fixing it in his shower. One of those many useful pieces of advice Jack McCoy was always good for.

Later on he still assumed Eames' _"don't you dare say another word Bobby"_ stare was on account of the time it had taken her to find her contact lens when it fell out on the top of her desk. If she'd just left the package alone, instead of waving _"Miss June" _about, she wouldn't have ended with that number of fish scales dropping all over the place to mistake her contact lens for.

He wasn't sure she got it right anyway, judging by the way she almost walked down that open drain cover when they went out to a crime scene and that odd _"tic" _and squint he'd never noticed before. But then failing to stare longingly into her eyes or at any other part of her anatomy was at the root of the problem. Bobby might have the _"social skills of a warthog at times"_ (her words) but one thing he was not. Stupid.

By the time he signed out that night all the usual signs were there that the latest ghastly rumour about his anatomy, his possessions of a private kind, what he did in his spare time and all aspects of his sexuality was doing the rounds. Some of them about the latter he'd had to uncover (purely metaphorically) and dispel were of a highly disturbing nature and led to very unpleasant dreams for him. Which said more about the female detectives who hoped they might be true and they'd get to try them out with him, than it ever did about the state of his mind thank you.

The next day it was _"business as usual"._ Female officers bursting into tears the moment they saw him or clustering in groups to whisper or maybe cast spells. Lots of talking behind their hands, which only proved the closing down of the nail salon on fourth floor to house an additional SWAT team was a mistake. The quality of the manicures on display had _"taken a turn for the worse"_ though that was a phrase had gotten him into trouble before.

He was sixteen and taking _"Driver's Ed"_ with Mr Wilson. A middle-aged man of remarkable patience and not a little fortitude. During their time together it was true that his hair turned from chestnut brown to almost white. As Bobby recalled it might even have happened in the course of one afternoon together, when _"passing manoeuvres"_ and _"parallel parking"_ were on the programme. He'd heard the phrase _"taken a turn for the worse"_ for most of his life. Always when his mother was speaking to people about friends who were in hospital.

So invited to take the route of his choice back to his High School, Bobby had steered into the parking lot of Cedars Sinai. He asked Mr Wilson to teach him how to _"take a turn for the worse"_ and had never imagined for one moment the consequences. The instructor leaping out of the car to go check himself into the psych ward, the police being called to deal with an unlicensed driver on the property and yet another interview with the school psychologist. But his confidential file had been amended from _"possible lunatic"_ to _"pathetically literal"._

Goren was very disturbed to see that phrase making another appearance in his life or at least in his head when it happened again. Not only was he once more in all the female bad books at 1PP, who seemed to be having some kind of gender specific mass hysteria, but the guys were looking increasingly awkward as well. The avoidance tactics, the bath and locker rooms to himself and the appearance on the wall of the latter of two scrawled messages.

One read _"Bobby. Call me anytime. Please"_ and was signed _"ETS"_. Easy enough to work out whom that was and the devil would skate to work before that ever happened.

The second read _"mwahahaha. i told you all last time. maybe now you'll believe me?"_ and was signed _"deep throat"_. The only person Goren knew in the whole of NYPD who never used capital letters was John Munch who considered them some sort of _"cultural imperialism imposed by washington to undermine the first amendment". _And Elliot T Stabler had once had the gall to call him a _"weirdo"_?

It was, as usual, the contract cleaning crew who had easy access to the ladies rest rooms who handed Bobby the evidence he needed to work out what had gone wrong this time. The small digital camera he _"borrowed"_ thanks to his sleight of hand skills from the CSI laboratory had proved extremely useful. He now knew not only the shocking nature of the latest rumour about him, but had another important clue in his most difficult case to date.

The intractable problem of the identity of the female officers who wrote these things on the walls. In that same purple indelible marker pen. Only now he had examples of handwriting to compare. Or would do once he'd read every book ever written on graphology and understood it to the point he could be called as an _"expert witness"_. Bobby hurried home to his apartment to place a very large order with _Amazon_ and call the other person whose name was being linked sexually, scandalously and in one respect, wrongly with his own.

It was easy to locate Jack McCoy in the crowd at the _"Last Chance Saloon"_ one of those obnoxious theme bars no one they knew would ever expect to find them. He just followed the scent of "_Acqua di Gio" _to a booth at the rear where the ADA waited. Two large glasses of amber liquid sat on the table and with no odour resembling paint stripper.

"Thanks for coming Jack. Cheers" he raised his glass

"I think I can guess what this about Bobby" said the older man "I know something of what you go through the other side of Plaza"

"You do?" he was more relieved than embarrassed

"Sure" shrugged McCoy "Same thing's been happening to me for years over in the DA's office. It's the price you pay for being smart Bobby. It creates the most unlikely sex symbols and objects of fantasy" he took a sip of his whiskey "I'm guessing this has something to do with you and me and our trip up to Attica the other day. Or to be precise the return journey"

"Uhuh" Bobby took a large swallow of amber nectar "All the women carrying on like something out of _'The Crucible'_ and the guys treating me like a leper"

"And poems on the bathroom walls?"

"Too right" he reached into his folder "I brought some examples for you to see. It's from the ladies rooms on ten and thirteen"

McCoy read for a moment "Did any of these women go to school Bobby? To attend class's not just cheerleading practice I mean? They can't even spell your name right. G-o-r-A-n? And what kind of crazy writes in purple marker pen?"

"It gets worse. Turn over the page Jack"

"That's nothing Bobby" McCoy reached in his pocket "Take a look at these"

He read the first one and glanced up "At least it's in classical sonnet style, three quatrains and a couplet and…wow…the iambic pentameter is faultless"

"Never mind the poetry lecture Bobby. What about the content?" muttered Jack.

"It displays an excellent knowledge of the New York Statutes on sexual offences" said Bobby slowly "Only to be expected in the DA's office I suppose. I think the writer probably has a copy of the _"Kama Sutra"_. See here…" he pointed "I know I only ever saw that position in there"

"Page 63?" frowned Jack "Crouching tiger, hidden dragon I think it's called?"

"No that was a movie" Bobby was engrossed "The author even knows the Latin for certain things. Not only that can spell them correctly. And get the plural form right. Not like that piece of nonsense. Trying to get away with _'kneeses'_ to get it to rhyme with _'squeezes'_. You certainly get a higher class of graffiti amongst your female colleagues Jack. I envy you"

"I envy Ron Carver" said McCoy "He gets you. Look what I've been stuck with down the years"

Goren choked slightly on the whiskey "Whoa Jack. Go steady there pal. This is their fantasy not yours"

"You wish" chuckled his friend "Sorry the head was back in the day job for a moment"

"Tell you something else" he was looking again at the 'poems' Jack had brought "That pink is a much nicer shade than violent purple. And I think the writer might have used a calligraphy pen"

"It's peach Bobby" Jack poured two more large measures from the bottle

"Excuse me?"

"The ink. It's peach not pink. Trust me"

Bobby shrugged "How did you get your hands on this so quickly Jack? I had to wait until the contract cleaning crew came in to find out what was in the ladies rest rooms this time"

"I went in and took pictures of course" Jack swallowed a large mouthful of scotch

Goren frowned "You walk into the ladies room with a camera Jack? And then wonder why rumours about you start?"

"We don't have guys and gals any more Bobby" McCoy muttered "We went co-ed that way three months ago. While since you've been over to the office I guess"

"And it will be a lot longer if that's true" he squawked "You're kidding me right?"

Jack put his hand on his heart "I swear I'm not. We've got _'Ally McBeal'_ to thank for it"

"Who?"

"'_Ally McBeal'_" Jack sighed "Bobby it's about time you extended your cable package to more than ESPN, the Discovery and Biography Channels. It's a TV show"

"If that's the sort of thing the others have, then no thanks. The men's room is about the only place I'm safe. Most of the time" he looked at his friend "Explains something though. The co-ed bathroom. How you know that's peach not pink"

"See what it does Bobby" he leaned forward "First you begin to widen your colour appreciation and next thing you know you're asking to borrow a comb"

McCoy shuddered and reached for a peanut

"So what do we do about this?"

"Come out together Bobby" McCoy coughed

"What!!"

"Sorry. Peanut went down the wrong way. We come out together and tell the truth"

"Let everyone know it wasn't just you and me in that airplane bathroom? That there were four of us in there? You, me and the two off duty stewardesses" said Bobby "Karen and what was she called?"

"Mindy"

"Think they'll believe us? There's not a lot of room in an airplane bathroom is there?"

"Not with you in there Bobby" Jack grinned "We managed though didn't we?"

"Uhuh" he blushed slightly at the memory of how they solved that one "Did you get Mindy's number?"

"Yeah. And something else" he took a small container from his pocket

"Oh shit. Ten-day course of penicillin. Bad luck Jack but you really should have used…"

"I know Bobby" McCoy hissed "That's what the doctor told me. And please don't tell me I shouldn't be drinking on antibiotic either. It's the only pleasure I'm about to have for the next eight days"

"I was about to" he confessed ruefully

McCoy sudden grinned "But that's not all I got. Look under the table Bobby"

"What's in the bag Jack?" he asked suspiciously

"Oh keep your shirt on Bobby"

"That's what I had to do the other day" he muttered

"It was that or me ending up with three broken ribs. You can be a bit of a grump at times you know Goren." McCoy lifted the bag which rattled and began to take out miniature bottles of whiskey "While you and Karen were freshening up Mindy went down to the galley. Got these from the trolley. Half of them are yours if you want them"

"Sure why not" he reached in his folder again "And this tie is yours. We must in the…um…confusion have put each others back on"

"Are you sure?" frowned his friend "Though it was a rush at the end. The seat belt warning going off and you not yet…well you know"

"I'm positive" Bobby muttered with a slight blush "Look here…" he held it out "These tiny indentations. I checked them out under a microscope. They are not from my tie clip. You must have one of those revolving tie racks. With little pegs on it? Mines a rail. Doesn't leave these kinds of tool marks"

"Thanks" McCoy took it "I'll let you have yours back sometime. What does it look like?"

"The same as that one" Bobby growled and took another drink "Trouble with you Jack is you spend so long asking obvious questions in court it gets to be a habit you can't break"

"Ha ha. But I'm great in closing though"

"I found that out in the bathroom on Monday. So did Mindy" Bobby winked "So what are we going to do Jack?"

"Drink some more whiskey and worry about it later. Deal Bobby?" he raised his glass

"Deal Jack"

_**AN**__** : **__I do not work at either IPP or the DA's office. Nor do I own indelible marker pens in purple or pink/peach. It's possible that I am an air stewardess working NY/Buffalo and my name is Karen… _


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!_

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and if you want those shorts ironing you know where it's kept)_

_**I've always suspected Bobby is to blame for some of the rumours that circulate about him at 1PP…**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO (6)**

Bobby Goren knew another of those rumours about him had started the moment he walked into the lobby of 1PP and a group of female detectives ran like a bunch of lemmings to the nearest restroom. Just a pity it they were not on the fifteenth floor and that urban myth about lemmings true. Otherwise his life might suddenly become a bit easier. Even if it would be a danger to passing pedestrians and unpleasant for Sanitation Department workers to have to clear up.

And if he'd needed any confirmation Bobby got it the moment he stepped into the squad room and every woman present turned to give him one of _"those looks"_. The sort where he could almost hear a series of sharp knives thwacking into the wooden door behind him. Like the circus act, except they were not missing and so realistic was the image Bobby did actually pause for a moment. To be sure certain parts of his anatomy hadn't been severed, fallen down his pants legs and were now rolling around on the carpet before his very eyes.

At his desk his partner Eames looked up. Not in wishful anticipation this time of getting to risk a few carpet burns with him, but with the sort of mournful expression comes natural to cocker spaniels. Bobby declined to tell her he'd rather spend hours brushing down his suit to rid it of the hairs one of those was bound to shed on a rug, as he sat down. Checking first she hadn't sawn through the legs of the chair to either break his back or get him on the floor or possibly both. Since with a broken spine he'd be the sort of _"helpless to resist her"_ in a drunken moment she had once confessed to him.

"Oh boy" he sighed preparing himself for a bad day and immediately concluding it was impossible sometimes to say anything right, as she immediately retorted _"I suppose you think that's funny do you Bobby?"_

Guessing it was another of those rhetorical questions women ask simply to give you chance to get yourself in even more trouble for reasons you don't understand, Bobby ignored it and said "Did you get a chance to look over those phone records last night Eames?"

"Yes" she snapped. "More than I expect you did Bobby. The last person to use the phone in the victim's house called Triple A and…"

"It doesn't matter any more" he interrupted her.

It was slightly rude but he was anxious to tell her about the sudden insight into the case he'd had last night, between his latest experiments with fillings for cannelloni. But Bobby didn't get a chance to tell her about that or how well the ricotta and spinach worked out, before she made a strangled noise and fled the room merely adding to his confusion.

All day it went on. The most innocent few words from Bobby provoking in Eames either looks so _"dirty"_ the Sanitation Department needed to send a clean up crew, outbursts of sudden sobs and or on several occasions kicks to his shins. At least until he moved his desk six inches further away to be out of her range. The reaction he got to the words _"It's so easy"_ to her request for him to load the photocopier with more paper. Or him saying, _"That'll be the day"_ at lunchtime, when someone at the table said Elliot Stabler was applying for a Captain's job somewhere.

In the end Bobby's patience with Eames finally wore as thin as that bearskin rug in front of a log fire was expected to. The one had also featured heavily in her moment of intoxicated indiscretion a few months back. They had a fight. Or rather she yelled and every word he tried to utter like _"Listen to me"_ or _"Well alright"_ seemed to just provoke even greater levels of wrath from her. In the end he'd said something like _"Do you have to rave on like this?"_ and she'd threatened to go to Deakins to request a new partner. An offer, on reflection, Bobby should really have taken her up on. But trying to be kind, his suggestion she _"Think it over"_ resulted in her face turning purple and Eames casting foul aspersions as to whether his mother was human and the exact nature of his relationship with her.

It had been a very unpleasant episode, though the colour her face went was the nearest shade of purple he had found so far. To match to the indelible marker pen ink, which Bobby suspected, was doing overtime in the female restrooms all over the building. To spread the latest rumour about him in ill spelled rhyming couplets that would defy even the licence poetry gives you with the grammar of the English language.

But Bobby hadn't given up on his quest. Of one day finding the authors of the poems showed that there was only a two-letter difference between _"erotic"_ and _"emetic"_. Just a pity they hadn't worked that out as yet and he'd been sorely tempted by an offer of _"massive reductions on dictionaries"_ when he went by _"Barnes and Noble" _the other day. To buy 64, ask for extra discount and leave one in all the ladies rooms at 1PP.

The argument with Eames left a bad taste in Bobby's mouth he was sure had nothing to do with the amount of spinach and ricotta cannelloni he had for dinner when he got home. And had him up at 1.30 am finding a 24 hour pharmacy at which to purchase indigestion remedies. Little wonder he was the one arrived at 1PP the next day red eyed, though not from crying. And reeking of peppermint like he'd had French toast dipped in toothpaste for breakfast.

A question, Deakins did in fact ask him thirty seconds after Bobby stepped into his office to be a given a lecture. On how he was to stop winding Eames up by speaking to her in Buddy Holly song titles. All of which was news to Bobby hadn't been aware he'd been doing it. Or if he was, that he'd set out _"to do it on purpose"_ as she had apparently claimed. As to why it had led to her slapping in a request for a new partner, the Captain was as mystified as him and they'd both have to rely, as usual, on Bobby's informants in the contract cleaning crew. To tell them why Eames and most other females in the department had taken so violently against him once again. And what the hell it had to do with a guy whose fans and family wished he'd taken the bus in February 1959.

Though it wasn't the first time in his life the late Buddy Holly's unfortunate demise had caused problems for Bobby. He was in fourth grade and in a homeroom period they were having an end of semester general knowledge quiz. One of the questions Mr Potts asked was _"Who else died in the plane crash killed Buddy Holly?"_ It turned out he was the only one to be able to name the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens. Which led to Jimmy-Lee Brown, who was his sworn enemy at the time, muttering behind him _"Smart ass geeky Goren gets it right again" _as a spit ball hit the back of his head. Bobby had waited for Jimmy-Lee behind the gym and hit him at the back of his head with the trophy he won for coming top in the quiz.

Unfortunately, Mr Potts witnessed the event from the bushes the far side of the football field. Bobby wondered why no one thought to ask his homeroom teacher what exactly he was doing in those bushes. The weeklong suspension he got for hitting Jimmy-Lee gave him plenty of time for that. Before he returned to school for his latest appointment with the psychologist. But it did result in his confidential file being amended from _"Aggressive. Latent signs of neuroticism?"_ to _"At last. Symptoms of normality?"_

The answer came at the end of the day. In the form of a note written on the headed paper of the contract cleaning company, stuck under Bobby's windshield wipers. On it was written a version of the lyrics to _"Peggy Sue"_. Only it wasn't apparently his heart yearning for her, but another organ of his body and it wasn't _"yearning"_ it was alleged to be doing either. And never in his life had he yelled _"oh my oh yes oh"_ with a girl called Peggy or Sue or anything else. No matter how much he'd wanted or needed her.

But it did leave Bobby wondering how Eames and her buddies got to hear about the recent event in his private life. Probably from that team of private eyes they had on a permanent contract these days. It certainly explained that suspicious group of men who been up telephone poles in his street for the last week. A detective with his powers of deduction should have smelled a rat, because they cabled his district two years ago.

The next morning Bobby did a final check of the various protective equipment he was wearing under his clothes, fastened his jacket over the small padlock on his zipper and might have been tempted to swallow the key. Except he'd left the spare at home and that could prove to be awkward later. He entered the female locker room calling "Man on the floor" and stepped over a quantity of banana skins just inside the door, suggested the female detectives were keeping a very hungry gorilla somewhere in the room.

"I've come to speak you all about Peggy Sue" he said as he heard that sound again. Of multiple sharp implements whistling by to embed themselves in the door. Not his imagination this time, as a full set of steak knives, two meat cleavers and a cutlass flew by. Eames must have kept that from the time they had to dress up as pirates as someone muttered, _"Damn. Missed"._

"What makes you think we want to hear about her Bobby?" sneered his partner.

"Think it over" Bobby replied risking that her knowledge of Buddy Holly songs wasn't as extensive as his own as he turned to go. Putting his faith in _Kevlar _to save him from any painful repercussions.

It wasn't, and rather as Bobby expected, it took them collectively a nanosecond to turn from indifference to rabid curiosity about Peggy Sue. Their latest perceived rival for his affections and potential mother to his children.

"How old is she Bobby?" asked one.

"Sixty-two" he replied.

"Shit" snorted Olivia Benson. "Kind of old to be some seniors boy toy aren't you Bobby? And what can a sixty two year old do for you none of us can?"

"Let's him ride on her motorised wheelchair I expect" snapped his partner with the sort of cruelty Bobby was sure women learned the first time they put on a garter belt. Though having struggled with a few of those in his time, he wasn't sure they were not intended to inflict _"cruel and unusual punishment" _on any guy got his hand trapped in the elastic.

"She has benefited from some attention from me" he said. "And had some work done on her bottom since I won her in that poker game"

There was a collective intake of breath sufficient to render the wind tunnel at NASA redundant, as one of the women at the back said, "Maybe she isn't so pretty, pretty or little Peggy Sue after all"

"She is quite big" Bobby shrugged "Needs to be to take my weight shifting around on her"

There were several suggestions/offers of _"I'm sure I could manage it"_ before Eames stepped forward with a frown on her face.

"Let's hang fire here ladies. I'm not so sure now Peggy Sue is a woman after all" she stared at her own feet a moment, which made a change from his and licking her glossed lips at the same time. "This is like the new gun and Susie the donkey isn't it Bobby?"

"Could be" he said nonchalantly. "Or don't you want to hear how I'm keeping her in my garage, painting her blue, buying new ropes to tie her up and planning to take her on vacation in a couple of weeks"

"It's a boat" snorted Eames. "He got himself the damn fishing boat he's always going on about"

"So the only thing getting hitched is a trailer?" puzzled the woman who seemed to be stuck permanently to the bench and featured in Bobby's most graphic and disturbing nightmares.

"Yes" he said with a glance at his watch. "And we are now two minutes into the shift ladies. I'm sure Elliot Stabler is badly in need of your help Detective Benson. He never did manage to grasp the instruction _"tear here"_ on the packs of sugar in the coffee room did he?"

They filed past him muttering amongst themselves and deciding who was going to take the blame for this latest shambles. Though last to leave, Eames gave Bobby one of those looks. The sort that said _"I'll turn this round somehow so this is all your fault in the end"_

**Two weeks later on a lake somewhere in upstate New York**

The blue fishing boat named _"Peggy Sue"_ was rocking and rolling and close to capsizing on water that was as still and calm as a sheet of glass. From somewhere deep in the hull a woman yelled "oh my oh yes oh". The fact her name was Margaret Susan and she shopped at the same place Bobby did for spinach and ricotta was sheer co-incidence. Least that was going to be his claim if he ever got his own breath back. And if anyone at 1PP ever found out the whole truth…

_**AN**__** : **__I do not own any purple marker pens (indelible or otherwise) and if you want to know where Bobby shops for spinach and ricotta…try the bath room walls at 1PP…it's how I found out…_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!_

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and have you been using my razor to shave your face again?)_

_**This story is written for someone I suspect may own an indelible purple marker pen…you know who you are…and so do I...but your secret is safe with me…**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO (7)**

Bobby Goren sat down at his desk and switched on his computer. He was determined to solve the mystery of the latest rumour circulating at 1PP before things got even more out of control. It had been a strange enough week as it was, but the _"final straw"_ came for him that afternoon.

Minding his own business and seeing to it in the restrooms on three, he'd become aware of a strange noise just above the level of the porcelain. Before shreds of tile and dry walling began to fall and a hole appeared. Luckily he'd done what he needed to, before the end of what had to be a fibre optic scope slid through the hole and the lens turned ninety degrees to point downwards.

Whatever the person the other end was hoping to see they were disappointed. Because by then the only thing Bobby had in his hand was his badge. There was a muffled sound of surprise and panic from the other side of the wall before the device was quickly withdrawn.

As he was washing his hands Bobby did wonder if it was the SWAT team, who had use for such devices during siege situations. _Undertaking some highly unorthodox practice with some new equipment? _Or did until he was rinsing, when he remembered all the SWAT teams were on six and most of the third floor consisted of SVU. His hands dry, a casual stroll to the water cooler confirmed Bobby's other suspicion. Specifically, the names of the detectives who occupied that office next to the rest room.

One fell under suspicion by virtue of gender alone. When these rumours about him started it was always the behaviour of the female detectives towards him that changed first. And until that moment, most of what had happened centred on them and female members of the support staff. Except there had been a distinctly baritone ring to that yelp Bobby heard and one which was oddly familiar.

It was the same sound his other chief suspect for being on the eyepiece end of that scope had made once before. When Bobby finally caught up with him to _"discuss"_ the script he wrote for himself and Eames as their contribution to a police benefit concert. Ordinarily he got little pleasure from seeing a grown man beg, but Bobby found it easy to make an exception on that occasion.

Bobby entered his password and opened his folder where he had been noting the clues to what might be happening. First, as usual and predictable, there had been _"those looks"_ which broke out last Monday. The sort women give you that say, _"I know something you don't know I know"_. Bobby hated those because aside from them being the portent of worse to come, he got into terrible mental contortions over them. Wondering things like _"how they knew he didn't know what they knew"_ and how if _"they knew he did know about what they knew but thought he didn't"_ he might feel about it.

But he'd barely had time to begin to develop the sort of migraine that might induce when the second clue came. Bobby got to his desk to have Eames hand him something. One of those inflatable rubber rings you put around children before they can swim. Tossing it to him with an eye glittering sort of smirk and the suggestion _"I expect you'll find this helpful for a few days Bobby"_.

Of course Eames knew he could swim and since there was little danger of drowning on the eleventh floor, Bobby was somewhat at a loss to know what to do with the thing. _Unless of course her feminine intuition told her there was about to be heavy rain for forty days and nights? And he'd be well advised to break out his fishing boat, change his name to Noah and begin a zoological expedition?_

Eames must have noticed his uncertainty, because she said _"It's for sitting on Bobby". _Suspecting it was more likely to emit a vulgar noise, Bobby instead put it behind his back and leaned into it carefully. There was no socially embarrassing sound and it was actually quite comfortable. Giving his lumbar region, which had received a good work out over the weekend, some much needed support. And why that was needed, would require more than the imminent threat of drowning for Eames to ever _"get it out of him"._

As Eames gave him a wink and nod and they got down to work, of course it crossed Bobby's mind perhaps the rumour might be he'd got haemorrhoids. Such rings were also, apparently, of benefit to sufferers and the fact he knew that, nothing to do with personal experience. Just part of that encyclopaedic knowledge he had about things medical. But Bobby could see an embarrassing and painful condition, he wasn't suffering, might give rise to rumours.

The sort that spread faster than glandular fever did when he was at High School around the female bathrooms at 1PP, thanks to poems of a grammar and dictionary defying nature. Written in indelible purple marker pen but so _"imaginative"_ in their vocabulary and content, that sight of just one would leave Bobby having ghastly dreams. Having to rely on his _"snitches"_ in the contract cleaning crew to find out the precise nature of the rumour so he could once again dispel it and life get back to normal. Or at least, the closest to it NYPD HQ ever seemed able to achieve.

Bobby had occasionally given thought to abandoning _"The Case of The Purple Marker Pen Owners"_ which was proving so frustrating to solve. Not because he wasn't inventive and determined, so much as more and more wondering if it was better to remain in ignorance. _Did he really want to know the real identity of the women who wrote these things? _Especially working alongside them daily and often in risky situations with them. Like being in an elevator alone with one or more.

But as Monday turned to Tuesday Bobby began to dismiss the _"haemorrhoid theory"_. Because by Tuesday afternoon he began to receive small packages. Each containing what appeared to be a single earring of the hoop or stud variety and in a multitude of styles. Some large, some small, some with jewels set in them and some of the _"cute"_ variety. With little teddy bears or hearts or flowers suspended from the rings, though his personal favourite was of a tiny donkey because that reminded him of Susie. At first Bobby thought they might be evidence from the jewellery store robbery he and Eames were working on. Until he remembered they were _Major Case_ not _Robbery _and never dealt with crimes like that.

That these unsolicited gifts, to a guy had never had even a single ear pierced, might be something to do with the latest rumour did occur to Bobby. But the reason he never had his ear pierced was because he was frankly scared witless how much it might hurt. However that was just the start, as from then on each package started to arrive with a length of ribbon. He might have gone into the drapery business with the range of colours and textures that were arriving including lacy effects, slightly elasticised and rather oddly, one length that looked to be rawhide leather rather than ribbon. The jewellery had been rather bizarre, but so far harmless, and of course the senders could have no idea how uncomfortable large quantities of ribbon made Bobby. Or that it had got him into difficulties early in his life.

He was in second grade and had to sit behind the Patterson Twins. Two noxious girls who made Bobby's life a misery for two semesters. Made fake claims he was kicking them if he didn't whisper the answers to tests and put terrible stories around about things he did with girls at birthday parties if he didn't help with their homework. The Patterson's had long red hair, which their mother arranged in complex styles festooned with yards of matching ribbon. Hair and ribbon Bobby got to see the back of each day and grow to resent.

The day they put it round _"Bobby Goren ate so much cake at Melissa's birthday party he was sick on the floor"_ he'd had enough. Hissing to the Patterson Harpies the list of the first 20 presidents of the USA during a history test distracted them. Whilst they were scribbling the answers, he was weaving together Rose and Lily's braids and ribbons with a skill had justified him getting the knot-tying badge at Cub Scouts. When they stood up to take their answers to be marked they stepped into the opposite aisles between the desks. The resulting screams were pretty horrific as they almost scalped each other and Bobby's only mistake was doing it the day Roy Evans was sick with the measles. Otherwise he might have got away with it, by blaming the boy sat next to him.

As it was Bobby was suspended from school for a week, during which time the Patterson's sporting new, short hairstyles had moved out of the state. Another miscalculation. To not pay attention to what his mother had been saying at dinner the other week about Mr Patterson's job. And of course it meant another session with that nice lady showed him pictures of inkblots and for some reason wanted to know if he was breast-fed. Bobby told her he didn't remember it was so long ago and perhaps she should call his Mom. But it did result in his confidential file being amended from _"sadistic misogynist"_ to _"sadly misunderstood"._

Bobby took a sip of coffee and brought up his Internet connection. The last clue came yesterday morning in the elevator with Eames and three other women. He'd felt something cold and hard tap his ankle. Something wasn't for a change a stiletto heel and Bobby was confused as he looked down to see, for a fraction of a second, his own face reflecting up at him. He would have been inclined to dismiss it as stressful imagination, until the self same thing happened when he was standing by Eames desk and then again in the lunch queue. When Olivia Benson was nearest him and he just caught her quickly putting something behind her back.

It was only the sixth time it happened Bobby realised what it was. He was writing something on the white board in one of the interview rooms when in the reflection from the two way, he realised it was a mirror his partner was trying to get under the edge of one of his pant legs. The sort intended to be used to look under cars for explosive devices, though by the time he turned round, Eames had retracted the telescopic arm and was making out like it was a ruler. It only took a single call to the Bomb Squad to discover they were frantically searching all over 1PP for the mirrors, telescopic or otherwise that had vanished from the equipment lockers of every officer.

Bobby was horrified. The misuse of valuable equipment aside, trying to see up his pants was intolerable. But probably a clue to some rumour about his anatomy doing the rounds. And which part of it. One rather confirmed by that business in the rest room on three. He called one of his contacts in the cleaning crew, demanding to know what was going on and when he got home, there were two words in a muffled voice on his answer machine.

Between getting dinner Bobby had puzzled what possible link there could be between him and the husband of a female British monarch. He couldn't claim to know much about the guy beyond the fact he was a German prince born in 1819, had 9 children, organised the Great Exhibition in London in 1851 and died ten years later of typhoid fever. _And none of that explained the latest rumour going around about him. _

Or didn't until Bobby typed the name into _"Google"_ and finding the answer with the very first result the search engine turned up. It occurred to him as he read, that it probably told you a lot about people's minds these days and that in some things he was still something of an _"innocent_".

However, it was an opportunity to extend his own knowledge in an unexpected, if somewhat bizarre direction for half an hour or so. An eye watering and swallowing heavily at times half hour, but that was Bobby's own fault he knew for using the _"image search"_ facility with the filter turned off. Especially when the business of piercing was one made him so squeamish, he had to steel himself to staple two pieces of paper together sometimes. Never mind made it impossible for him to use a nail gun. But the situation of the missing mirrors could not be allowed to continue, and there was also the risk of Elliot Stabler reducing the male rest room walls to something like Swiss cheese if his hole drilling went on unchecked.

The following morning Bobby walked into the female locker room wearing a pair of cycle clips round his ankles, announcing "Man on the floor" and stepping over a yard wide strip of ice just inside the door. Foiling the latest plan of that strange woman sat on the bench to make sure that's where he ended up, Bobby did stare at his feet when he spoke. Not as some kind of hint, but to avoid seeing some of the other uses for those telescopic mirrors the female detectives were discovering and experimenting with. He'd slept badly enough last night as it was, without adding further fuel to his nightmares.

"Ladies" he said thinking that the least appropriate term to describe them. "I'm aware there is something of mine you are anxious to see"

The collective intake of breath and sucking sound was sufficient to have drained the whole sewer system of New York before Eames said, "So you came to reveal all did you Bobby?"

"Not exactly" he replied, "More extend an invitation. Quite a few of the guys are anxious to see it as well so I thought the lunch room at 12.30 might be a better place"

"Wow" said Olivia Benson. "No more bashful Bobby. Bring on Fun Bobby"

"I assume from that" Bobby said "You people in SVU still haven't worn out that tape of _Friends Series 1 Episode 10 _seems to give you so much amusement?"

"Be quiet Olivia" said Eames "If we upset him he might change his mind about showing us"

"I'm a man of my word Eames" he shrugged. "Not only I will I let you look, if you all promise to return those mirrors by lunch time…I might even let one or two of you touch"

There was something of a fight broke out at the back of the locker room at that point and at least for a while the mirrors were put to good use. Checking that several of the detectives, who had fallen to the floor, including Olivia Benson, were still breathing.

"And one final thing ladies" Bobby said as he stepped back over the ice. "I appreciate the thoughtful gifts you've been sending me. Unfortunately none of them were up to the task" He paused. "Not large enough I'm afraid"

There was the sound of several more bodies hitting the floor as he left.

_**1PP Lunch Room…12.30**_

A large crowd of male officers had gathered around Bobby's table but of course unable to ever be on time for anything, the women got consigned to the rear. He heard their breathless and frustrated groans as he undid the zipper, took it out and a few of the guys commented.

Things like _"Wow I'm really envious of you Bobby"_ and _"Gee it's heavy"_ drove the females to only further howls of frustration they couldn't see.

"What made you do it Bobby?" asked a guy from SWAT

"Oh I've wanted one for ages" he replied "Just decided it was time I treated myself"

"Weren't you worried it might cause permanent damage?" asked Fin Tutuola

Bobby shrugged "I did get slightly worried when the guy started up the drill but it went through quite easily in the end"

"Have you tried using it since Bobby?" enquired Munch

"Not yet John. I think I'll need to make a few adjustments to my action" he replied "Though at my age it's more just for looking at and having a little fun with than any serious use."

There was a sound of several male yelps of pain as Eames used various means to get them out of her way. Stiletto heels to the instep, raked down the shin and of course that well-known, favourite female weapon of a knee to the groin seemed to be working. Meanwhile, Bobby could hear Olivia Benson organising the former cheerleaders to form a human pyramid to see over the crowd. And drawing lots to decide who would get first turn at the top.

"Why did you opt to have a chain put through Bobby?" someone else enquired

"It hangs better that way" he shrugged

The next moment hideous screams came from Eames and Benson atop the pyramid, as they finally got to see what Bobby and the guys were all looking at. The autographed baseball bat that Carlos Beltran hit a walk off homer with, giving the Mets a clean sweep over the Yankees in the last _Subway Series_. One he'd had a hole drilled through the handle of so it would hang from a hook in his closet. If _"looks could kill"_ Bobby would have been halfway to the crematorium as they called an urgent conference of the female staff in the rest rooms and they all left.

Almost certainly to plan a hideous revenge on him Bobby would worry about some other time, as he packed the precious bat away in the bag. And there was another bonus. Seeing Elliot Stabler on his way very late to the lunchroom. Walking rather strangely, in a way suggested he'd been several months on horseback and was in some discomfort.

Bobby sent that rubber ring down to the third floor with a note attached which read, _"Dear Stabler. Thought you might find this helpful"_. He signed it _"Fun Bobby"_

_**AN**__** : **__I do not own any purple marker pens and have no idea how these rumours about Bobby get started._


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…you know you really…do that…very…very well…)_

_**I don't start these rumours I merely report them…**_

**RUMOURS AND INNUENDO (8)**

Bobby knew he was in trouble the moment he entered the Squad Room and Alex gave him one of _"those looks"_. The sort of disdainful eye flicker women must learn as children. The one they get when they undress _Ken_ for the first time and discover the only thing he keeps in his shorts is a label says _"Made in Taiwan"_. The sort of look could have a guy checking his zipper, except Bobby was determined not to yield to the mild panic that thought always induces.

"Morning" he said, remembering _"Lesson One"_ of those _"Social Skills"_ classes he'd been made to attend for a while in High School.

"Talk to the hand" muttered his partner.

Which might be something of a relief, since one of those didn't answer back. Except Alex held hers up with a single digit gesture expressed itself very clearly. The sort of thing they didn't teach in _"Social Skills 101"_ or at least, strongly discouraged you from using.

As he sat down, undid the zipper on his folder and discretely double-checked the one on his pants, Bobby felt his heart sink. Almost certainly the first clue another of those rumours about him was starting to circulate at 1PP. Then, feeling something else sink, he realised that distracted by that gesture, he'd operated the zips the wrong way round. Now his folder was firmly closed on his writing pad and under the desk Eames would see more than some spare _"Post It"_ notes he kept hidden there.

You would think he would have got used to it by now. The rumours about all aspects of his life that multiplied faster than bad sit-coms featuring the former cast of _Friends_ and went all round the building in no time. Thanks to whoever owned purple indelible ink marker pens and used them on the ladies rest room walls. To scrawl, in an untidy hand with a demented and feverish quality to it, poems of an almost obscene nature. Though Bobby could almost forgive those when he got to see them, courtesy of some sympathetic contract cleaners who brought him furtive copies. It was the ones of a mawkishly romantic nature had him rushing to the bathroom to get re-acquainted with his breakfast.

Somehow he and Eames got through the morning and rather as expected, her threat to not speak to him lasted no more than fifteen minutes. Bobby had learned long ago that women changed their minds faster than they ever changed their clothes. Jackie Sykes proved that when he was in sophomore year at High School and it was a lesson for him that dogged persistence and a little begging, paid off. If only rather briefly on that first occasion and any guy said otherwise was a bare faced liar or not doing it right.

However, his partner was still punctuating every comment to him with some sort of gesture. One of which Bobby hoped Sister Bridget they interviewed as a witness mid morning, did not understand. And had probably given Eames the sort of sore wrist he had some sympathy for by lunchtime. Though it was some years since he'd had that problem himself and something else he maybe never thanked Jackie Sykes sufficiently for at the time.

When they returned to 1PP and entered the lunchroom, it was like opening the icebox door stark naked on a cold January morning. To say the reaction from the side of the room where all the women sat was _"cool" _was an understatement. A Tundra-like windblast of freezing, hostile looks all aimed at him. Holding his tray for a moment and deciding where to sit, Bobby's admiration for Brett Favre grew a hundred fold. Any man who for years could perform play actions of that quality at _Lambeau Field_ in sub zero temperatures froze the brain, the arms and the legs, really was a genius.

But in some ways it was a relief from the dozens of daily invitations he normally got to _"sit by me Bobby"_ along with offers to cut up his food and feed it to him and _"share some of my dessert"._ Desserts that were always chocolate flavoured for some reason he never understood. Nor why women persisted in eating them, only stopping long enough between mouthfuls, to complain about their weight or their skin. It was the sort of illogic that made their frequent complaints _"you don't understand me"_ undeniably true.

Seeing the small gesture from Elliot Stabler, Bobby nodded and smiled and went over to join him on that table. The resulting reaction from all the women present was instant. A sucking noise would have the tailpipes of a hundred _Harleys _stripped of their chrome in no time as he sat down and began to talk quietly to the SVU detective. Their _"heads together"_ discussion punctuated by the faint sound of female voices chanting something about someone _"sitting in a tree"_ Bobby didn't quite hear and probably wouldn't want to.

Nor as Elliot drove the two of them from the parking lot at the end of the day, could Bobby rid himself of the feeling they were being followed. Though he said nothing to Stabler about the large, red cement truck that had been trailing him for some days. The fact it had _"Spy4U Detective Agency"_ on the side in foot high letters was something of a clue. And proof that his female colleagues at 1PP had awarded the contract to a new company, after the last failed to trail him, yet again, to his secret location fishing cabin a few weeks back.

A large car transporter wasn't exactly going to go unnoticed in his rear view on the forest tracks of upstate New York and a call about stolen vehicles to the _State Highway Patrol_ solved that problem. And re-assured the young lady he'd arranged to meet up there for a little fun in the wide outdoors. Eames had not even noticed that it was frozen cod and mackerel he brought her back as the _"proof"_ she always demanded of what he'd been doing.

However, two nights later when he and Elliot were in the bushes in the Park, Bobby was sure he was right. That rhododendron did look very artificial and appear to be moving. Though given what Stabler was doing at the time he couldn't entirely blame the poor PI must be secreted inside it. When he took on the job of stalking them he couldn't have anticipated he'd be the one to end getting his stalks, foliage and roots as well soaked as Elliot ensured they were time he was done. The only good thing to emerge for Bobby in the last few days came not from Stabler's pants, as the fact they were equally _"persona non grata"_ among the female population of 1PP. It made him feel less isolated to know he wasn't the only one women were avoiding, giving blood-curdling looks to and making obtuse remarks about.

Bobby thought it might have bothered Stabler who wasn't used to this kind of thing like he was. Until he mentioned it over a beer one evening and Elliot reminded him he was married. And thus not only used to it, but after this many years didn't even notice it anymore. Hardly the best testimonial for the wedded state but as Stabler said, it wasn't your testimonials matrimony crushed the life out of. Though Bobby did decline his offer to prove it and it didn't occur to either of them that their sudden closeness was the subject of the rumour doing the rounds.

As Deakins and Cregan said when they were both summoned to a meeting with them, it only went to prove neither of them was maybe so smart after all. Before delivering them a lecture that perhaps they were taking the formal warning they'd been given to "_be nice to each other"_ a few months back, a little too far. Both Eames and Benson had slapped in requests for re-assignment and they were bringing NYPD into disrepute carrying on the way they were. It made no sense until the two Captains showed them the latest bill for on line services at HQ. It was five hundred percent up on the last quarter already and all with hits to various, highly dubious web sites. Being made by female detectives and support staff to watch some very strange footage of the pair of them had been posted on the net.

Bobby and Elliot were horrified as they were shown footage of the two of them in the Park. Taken from a _"rhododendron's eye view"_ but also rather misleading in one respect. Stabler wasn't about to deny that was him or he was unzipping his pants. Any more than Bobby could refute that was him sinking out of the frame to his knees onto the ground. Or saying _"It would be better for me Elliot if you taped your fingers"_. But it was not what it looked like and Elliot insisted, when Bobby said he was searching _"for a couple of balls",_ it wasn't like that either.

For Bobby it was almost a re-run of a nasty incident in his sophomore year. He and some friends were tossing a football during one recess, when Charlie Dobson drilled one high and hard that stuck in the outside security bars of a small high window. Being the tallest and most likely to reach, he'd dragged over a bench to stand on, got on it and was reaching for the football. Only to realise the window looked down into the girl's showers. The same time as the cheerleaders using them all looked up. The resulting screams were louder and shriller than any pep chant from them ever was.

Needless to say he was suspended from school for four days while it all got sorted out, which gave him time for reflection. On the contradictory nature of girls and Jackie Sykes in particular. She hadn't exactly been shy and modest under the bleachers with him the night of the Homecoming Dance, so why she was shrieking with the rest in the showers he had no idea. There was nothing of hers he'd not seen before even if the light in the shower room was better. Bobby still hadn't worked that out by the time he returned to meet with the school psychologist. But at least his confidential file was amended from _"voyeuristic, unpleasant youthful maniac"_ to _"very unlucky young man"_.

It took some time for he and Elliot to explain and prove exactly what had been going on between them. And Stabler did chip in fifty bucks towards the money Deakins and Creagan had paid the contract cleaners and wanted back. For the _"clues"_ gleaned from the ladies rest room walls. But the pair of them were under instruction to _"keep away"_ from each other that evening and at the start of the shift tomorrow to _"straighten things out"_ with their female colleagues. A term in the circumstances, not even Stabler missed the irony of. There was, perhaps, hope for him yet

Next morning the two of them met outside the female locker room with Elliot carrying a large bag as Bobby knocked on the door. They strode in together unable to miss the tubs of unopened grease, man-traps and numerous leaking cartons of chocolate ice cream their female colleagues were tossing into a dumpster. Between sniffling and pasting pictures of Mack Taylor from CSI to their lockers, which told you how desperate the state of affairs had become.

"Its raining men" announced Stabler, which wasn't to Bobby's mind exactly the best thing to say in the circumstances.

Eames held her hands palms up, which at least wasn't a vulgar gesture and glanced about her with an unconvinced expression.

"Excuse me if I'm not rushing to put up an umbrella" she muttered.

"Aren't you two in the wrong place?" scoffed Benson. "Shouldn't you be next door?"

"That's a closet" said Stabler quickly, without thinking and not for the first time.

"Yeah and you're both out of it now" said the woman on the bench.

She wasn't patting that in seductive invitation to Bobby this time, so much as balling her fist. Though since she had a naked _Ken_ in her other hand, maybe her disappointment was double that morning?

"Look" he said quickly. "You've got this all wrong. There's nothing going on between Elliot and I, is there Stabler?"

"Nothing" the SVU detective said, at last getting something right.

"Oh" said Eames with a tone of disbelief thicker than her pantyhose. "So all those little hand signals you've been flashing Bobby for days and him nodding is just you practising _Sign Language_ is it?"

"Kind of" Bobby shrugged. "You could say it's a sort of code we have going between us"

"So what's the one for _"I'll see you later in the bushes at the park"_ then Elliot?" snorted Olivia Benson

"There isn't one" replied her partner. "I just e-mail Bobby when I want to see him or he does me to fix a time for us to get together"

"Oh how sweet" scoffed a voice at the back. "Brings a whole new spelling to _"You've got male"_ doesn't it?"

"Very funny" said Bobby. "Look ladies we don't have all day…"

"Why?" snapped Eames. "Planning on a quick session before the shift starts?"

"No" said Elliot with a wink at Goren. "Not enough time for Bobby to get nicely warmed up and start giving me his best stuff"

"Indeed Elliot" he smiled. "And by the way. So as you know. I pitch, he catches"

"Aaargh gross" screamed Eames. "Too much information"

Bobby frowned. "It was you mentioned it Eames. Maybe it would help if we showed you?"

"I don't think we need a demonstration" yelled Benson above the sound of women squealing in horror right through the locker room.

A sound that brought back unpleasant memories for Bobby.

"Oh shit" muttered Stabler unzipping the bag.

He tossed Goren a baseball and mitt, quickly slipped into a chest protector and a mask and shoved his hand in a glove. Bobby tossed the ball and wriggled his shoulder.

"Nothing in the dirt please" Elliot hissed. "The only cup I've had time for this morning is coffee"

"Sure" he shrugged as Elliot crouched down, held up the mitt and he threw a slider into his hand with a satisfying _"thwack"_ sound.

"Ready to climb the ladder partner?" he asked as Elliot over-armed the ball back to him.

"Uhuh"

"Stop it!" snapped Eames. "Stop that right now! Are you trying to tell us the only sort of team you two are is an assault team?"

"It's a battery team" said Bobby sending the inside curveball Elliot had signalled for with his un-taped fingers. "And it's not trying, it's true. That's why we've seen seeing so much of each other. To practice and work out our signals"

He reached in his jacket and handed her a piece of paper before catching the return.

The women all clustered round to read over her shoulder. Where they would see the roster for the _"New York American Legion Baseball Team"._ He and Stabler had little in common except they were both ex-military and sheer co-incidence various circumstances brought them together as one of the most effective partnerships for the annual game against New Jersey. A chance for them to _"bury the hatchet", _for once, not between each other's shoulder blades.

"Oh" said Benson with a slightly shifty expression probably told you who got it wrong this time.

Eames whistled for order amid the muttering and sighs of relief. "Okay ladies. As you were. Let's get those pictures down and the ice cream back in the freezer before it all goes to waste"

"Could you move please?" asked another as someone cracked open a tub of grease ready to start spreading it on the floor just by the door.

Outside he and Stabler put all the gear back in the bag, clipped their badges back on and went off to do the day job. Though Elliot was sadly naïve to say, _"I guess this is the end of your troubles Bobby"_ as they walked away.

_**AN :**__** Of course the New York American Legion won their game but something happened in the showers afterwards because Bobby and Elliot are not speaking…again..**_

_**AN :**__** It's not possible to buy an indelible purple marker pen within a hundred miles of where I live by the way…coughs…I have no idea why…**_


End file.
